


Memory Tricks

by Thousand_Ribbons (Meridians_of_Madness)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Crying, Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, Good Omens Kink Meme, M/M, Memory Loss, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Thousand_Ribbons
Summary: Aziraphale loses his memory, and Crowley takes advantage by giving him some new ones, all about what he likes, who he loved, and what he was willing to do for the one he loved.-Filled for the kink meme prompt locatedhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 265
Collections: Dark Crowley





	Memory Tricks

Aziraphale came up out of a murky gray haze to the startling realization that he had fingers.

 _Oh, that's novel,_ he thought, holding them up to stare at them. _That's not quite the thing, is it? I should... I should have glorious wings and great rings, rolling within and without each other, clasped together and stung with eyes, I should... I should..._

He gasped, clutching his head and for a moment he was aware, so very aware, of being a thing of might and energy, boundless, almost endless, and compressed down to see the world through a human guise. For a moment, he was certain he would tear right through that guise, and the next his memories came back in a rush. He adjusted down and took a breath because he knew how to, settling his hands on his lap over the crisp white sheets of his bed.

 _Oh good,_ he thought with some relief. _I am Aziraphale._

He was just beginning to feel quite pleased with that when the door opened, and a tall gangling redheaded demon rushed in, yellow eyes wide and with a... plant mister in his hands? The growl he uttered was entirely too deep to come from his slender frame, but it cut off immediately when he realized that they were alone.

He gingerly set the plant mister on the table, peeled off the heavy latex gloves he was wearing, and flung himself at Aziraphale in the bed, wrapping his arms around him with such a desperate abandon that Aziraphale, who had been reaching for his powers, hesitated.

“You're awake,” the demon whispered. “You're awake, thank Somebody, I thought you might never, I thought... I thought you were _gone_ and I was all alone...”

“Well, um, you are not,” Aziraphale said, gingerly patting the demon on the shoulder. “So um. There, there?”

The demon pulled back to look at him.

“Aziraphale?”

”Yes?” Oh, yes, that was his name. He was pleased to have gotten that right first thing. There were some other things coming back as well, thankfully, including a bookshop that sounded rather delightful, and crepes, which were wholly intriguing. The gaps were slowly filling in, but there was still one great mystery to answer.

“Er, are you all right?”

“Of course I am,” he said, and then in a somewhat smaller voice, “May I ask you something?”

“Uh, sure, of course. You know you can always ask me anything y'want, angel.”

“Oh good, that's very good. Only... could you please tell me who you are?”

The demon stared at him, eyes wide and, Aziraphale had to admit, rather beautiful. The demon swallowed once and then again, tried a smile, failed.

“Come on, angel, stop messing about. Of course you know me.”

Aziraphale hesitated, because he could sense something trembling between them, some so fine and gossamer that breathing wrong would shatter it, and he knew as he was in this moment, he didn't have much experience with breathing right.

Aziraphale knew that he was an angel. He knew that the being in his bed was a demon. They were hereditary enemies, but the demon seemed more than comfortable with him, had in fact rushed in to protect him.

Carefully, he took the demon's hand, and the demon flinched a little, looking down at their joined hands before looking back up.

“Angel...”

“I am afraid I do not know you, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. “Please... won't you tell me who you are?”

“You... you don't remember me?”

Aziraphale winced, because now he could feel the wrongness of that fact nibbling at him, worrying at the back of his mind like an overeager ferret. It was wrong, so all the better that they set it to right as soon as they could.

“I do not. I'm so sorry, I don't know why...”

“It was fucking Hastur, trying to get his own back,” Crowley said absently, his mind elsewhere. “Tosser never could hex worth a damn, got some wires crossed. I settled with him, believe me, but... angel...”

“Please,” Aziraphale said, his voice trembling a little. “Please tell me who you are.”

The gap in his mind buzzed, strange and wrong, and it made him want to break down into tears.

The demon's hand went limp in his, and then a moment later he was grabbing at Aziraphale's hand so hard it hurt. His eyes, which had formerly had a human structure despite the odd color and the slit pupils, were now a side-to-side gold.

“I'm Crowley,” the demon said.

Aziraphale started to smile with relief. Yes. Crowley. That was right. That was good, and...

“I'm your husband.”

-

So he had a husband. All right.

He had a bookshop, he had a thousand eyes and half again as many wings, he had a love of crepes and the tendency to taste cilantro as every so slightly soapy. And he had a husband.

Aziraphale could tell that Crowley wanted to take it easy with him, wanted to ease him into everything, but Aziraphale refused to have it.

“I'm not going to let Hastur take away what is mine,” he said firmly. “Tell me all of it. Start from the beginning if you want, or start at the end and work your way back, but I want to know all of it.”

Then, when Crowley looked hesitant, he took his husband's hand in his. Crowley melted -did he always melt when Aziraphale touched him? Something to consider- and nodded.

“All right, angel. Anything you want.”

He had started from the beginning, from an unexpected meeting on the eastern wall of Eden to a shared moment of dismay at the base of the ark to Rome, where perhaps for the first time they saw each other clearly.

Crowley hesitated.

“It was after Rome that we started to get more serious,” he offered tentatively.

Aziraphale frowned.

“In spite of our respective sides?”

“Yeah. We... we started seeing each other more after that. Before it was every few decades, maybe more. After Rome, we crossed paths more and more. We had a sort of arrangement, you know. I did your blessings, you did my temptations...”

“Gracious. That sounds positively conspiratorial of us.”

“Yeah, it was that. We knew that if we were caught, we'd be destroyed. But we couldn't stay away from each other. After Rome, we never could.”

“How romantic,” Aziraphale said, fascinated. He knew it must hurt Crowley to bear these memories on his own, but to Aziraphale, it was like a grand story he was hearing for the very first time “Will you... that is, will it hurt if I ask you to tell me more?”

Crowley swallowed.

“Never,” he promised. “I want to tell you all of it.”

And he did.

Crowley told him all about how they saw Rome grow and then fall, how they had kissed for the first time in the waters of the Nile. He told him about taking up the roles of combative knights in the 1300s- “just for a lark”- and then more seriously about winding up on different sides of conflicts to appease their respective offices.

“Sometimes years went by before we saw each other,” Crowley mumbled, looking down. “I... I missed you so much, thought of you all the time. Sometimes it was like the only thing that kept me sane, thinking about you. Knowing we'd be together again.”

“I thought the exact same thing,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley gave him a hopeful look.

“Do you remember that?”

“No, but I know I must have. Please, dear. Go on.”

And he did. Crowley was a masterful storyteller, to the point where Aziraphale imagined that he must be embellishing the truth on at least some of the things he said. It was all too lovely and too perfect, all glowing love and sweetness. Aziraphale was an angel, but he certainly wasn't a fool, and one day, when Crowley was telling him about how they ended up in Spain in 1451 to watch the roses bloom, Aziraphale started to laugh.

“Liar!” he chuckled, and the change over Crowley was immediate. He went dead pale, coming to his feet with his shoulders up. If he had had his wings out, they would be held high and bristling, and he looked terrified.

“Crowley!”

“What did you mean by that?”

Aziraphale stared at him, mouth open. It seemed to take hours before he found his words.

“I... only that you told me you were in Finland that year and I was in Romania. Neither of us could be in Seville, could we?”

Crowley relaxed by increments, offering Aziraphale a weak smile.

“Yeah... yeah, you're right. My mistake, sorry, I guess I got confused.”

“My dear, are you all right?”

Crowley nodded, and then shook his head.

“Don't like being called a liar,” he said. “It... it's... I just can't take it.”

“Oh, darling...”

Aziraphale took Crowley gingerly into his arms. He wasn't... he wasn't used to touching Crowley like this, and it still felt strange, no matter how many times Crowley told him about how they held each other, how they slept in each other's arms. Right now, though, he could not bear to leave Crowley that shaken and not hold him, not after he had caused that distress.

Crowley burrowed into his arms as if he had been dying for that contact, and Aziraphale's heart broke.

“There, darling, it's all right. I shan't say it again, I promise...”

“Don't, please,” Crowley almost begged. “I can't stand it.”

“I promise, I-oh!”

Crowley's mouth was suddenly on his, and Aziraphale was stunned by a kiss that was beautifully warm and wet, stinging slightly with the venom Crowley could never quite banish and infused with longing. He opened his mouth, and before he could say anything, Crowley's tongue swept in, conquering him with a triumph that made Aziraphale's heart beat faster.

It seemed to take a small eternity before Crowley pulled back, eyes bright gold and a high flush on his cheeks.

“Angel? Was that... Did you... do you remember?”

Aziraphale forced himself to smile.

“Remind me again,” he offered, and Crowley's smile was brilliant as he leaned in.

-

Some things were better, some worse. Sometimes, Aziraphale could feel the memories that Crowley related to him, feel them as if they were properly his. He remembered oysters in Rome, a rescue in Paris. He remembered an Armageddon that never happened, and that ridiculous time he spent as a gardener. He would have asked what he was thinking, but he knew it had likely been _No, Crowley, please don't cow the Dowlings' plants into submission with verbal abuse._ All of that was fine.

Sometimes, though, he could feel... well, cracks. Places where his memory seemed to fail utterly, not even offering up a whisper of recognition. Sometimes, it was like his mind was a pane of glass, and the memories refused to stick, no matter what they were. Sometimes it was small things, things he might have lost anyway.

Other times, it was things like their wedding. It was vows exchanged on a mountaintop in Skye, and even after Crowley took him there hopefully, even after Crowley bashfully whispered what they had said, it never took. Finally, after Aziraphale had made Crowley tell it to him so often that he could recite it word for word, he shook his head, fighting back tears.

“I'm so sorry, my dear,” he whispered. “I think you'll have to remember it for both of us.”

“I always will,” Crowley said, and the love in his voice broke Aziraphale's heart to bits.

-

It was Aziraphale who said that they should make love.

Crowley looked at him, gnawing on his lower lip with concern.

“Angel... we can wait. I don't... I don't want to go too fast for you.”

“Did we wait in Barcelona or at Lourdes?” retorted Aziraphale. “You had no trouble hurrying me before...”

He meant to tease, but Crowley winced.

“We have all the time in the world. We don't _have_ to...”

He trailed off as Aziraphale took his hands.

“Do you want to?”

“ _Yessss_ ,” Crowley hissed, unable to look away. Aziraphale wondered if that look, which he must have seen so often and loved, had always made him feel a little like a prey animal.

“I'm just... I'm so tired of being broken,” Aziraphale said, almost pleading. “I don't want to be so much less than what I was before. I don't want _us_ to be less. Please, Crowley. I want you. I want this.”

He wasn't sure, but Crowley was sure enough for both of them, reaching up to brush tentative fingertips over Aziraphale's cheek. Aziraphale forced himself not to flinch.

“If you ask me again, I'll give it to you,” Crowley said, and it almost sounded like a threat.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, swallowing around the lump in his throat and the sudden strange thrill of fear that ran through his body.

“Please,” he said. “Please make love to me.”

Suddenly Crowley was on him, fingers pushing through Aziraphale's hair before closing just shy of roughly and Crowley's mouth on his, hard and fast as if afraid Aziraphale would change his mind. The kiss was vicious, all tongue and teeth, and Aziraphale had to stifle his first instinct to shove Crowley away.

 _Of course it doesn't feel right,_ he told himself sternly. _You don't remember this. Your body doesn't remember this. It only feels like an assault, it isn't really._

Almost as if to admonish his reluctance, Aziraphale felt himself start to grow hard against Crowley's thigh, and when Crowley chuckled, he knew that Crowley could feel it too.

“That's right,” Crowley murmured. “Let me show you how eager you were...”

Aziraphale's breath caught as Crowley fondled him through his clothes, his touch just the right kind of firm to make him moan. It was... it was good, at least it felt good, and Aziraphale closed his eyes.

Crowley kissed him and groped him for what felt like forever, and then finally, he led him to the bed upstairs, pushing him down on top of the coverlet.

“How do you-”

“Tell me what I liked best,” Aziraphale said, his voice slightly hoarse from the kissing. “Or... no. Don't tell me. Show me.”

There was an odd moment of emptiness, where they only looked at each other, and then Crowley grinned, too sharp and too vicious by half.

“I'm going to take you at your word, angel. You liked stripping for me. I was always too slow with your clothes, all those bloody fasteners.”

With trembling hands, Aziraphale removed his clothes layer by layer. He couldn't quite bring himself to fold them, but he did drape them neatly over the chair by the bed.

 _I should get a coat rack or at least a hook,_ he thought vaguely. _I wonder why I never did before._

When he was naked, he turned to find Crowley seated on the edge of the bed, lazily stroking his cock as he watched Aziraphale with bright golden eyes.

“You... you liked to suck me off,” he said. “On your knees with your hands on my thighs.”

Oh.

Tentatively, Aziraphale went down on the ground between Crowley's legs, and up close there, he examined Crowley's cock. It was stouter than might be expected for Crowley's build, not ridiculous, but long and with a graceful upward curve to it. It was... it was nice as such things went, Aziraphale thought, and deliberately he sat up to close his mouth over the tip.

It was neither good nor bad, but the sudden groan that Crowley uttered made his heart beat faster, made his cock harden and his balls draw up close to his body. The shiver of arousal that went through him convinced him that he was doing the right thing. This was what he had needed to do this whole time. If the memories would not come, he would force them, or build new ones in their ashes. He would not be denied this part of himself, and even if he could deny himself, he would never deny Crowley.

He suckled on the tip of Crowley's cock for several long minutes, and with a groan, Crowley fisted the base of his shaft, drawing it up to meet Aziraphale's lips with ever stroke. His other hand came up to cup the back of Aziraphale's head, not pushing down, but refusing to let Aziraphale back away.

Aziraphale closed his eyes. He wasn't a complete innocent. He had known how to do this once, and even if he hadn't, he read. He didn't know what to do with the fact that the memories of reading about this act (blushing, stirred and restless) were there, but the memories of doing this... weren't.

It didn't matter, not when Crowley was unable to keep from pushing into his mouth, more rocking then thrusting, unable to keep soft pleasured sounds from escaping his lips. Aziraphale _did_ like those, and he leaned in, taking a little more, and then a little more than that. Then Crowley let go of his cock and the full length was pushed between Aziraphale's lips, the head against the back of his throat, and Crowley's hands were on the back of his head, keeping him in place as he whined in panic.

He couldn't. He pushed at Crowley frantically, desperately trying to prevent himself from biting, and then Crowley pulled back, so fast that Aziraphale's teeth clicked together. His jaw was sore, the back of his throat felt raw, and the tears in his eyes felt too hot. He gagged, eyes shut tight, convinced he did not deserve the gentle way Crowley knelt next to him, combing his fingers through his hair, stroking his bare shoulders with so much care it _ached._

“Angel, angel, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. We shouldn't have... It's all right. We don't _have_ to...”

Something rang strangely about Crowley's words, almost hollow, but surely that was only because Aziraphale's ears were still filled with the beat of his own heart, and that he was dizzy from what they had done.

“No,” he said. “No, I want to, Crowley. Please. I want to, just let me try again, I won't... this time I'll be better, I'll...”

Crowley smiled at that, just a little quirk of his lips.

“Determined angel,” he murmured, and Aziraphale warmed a little at the praise. “All right, but... but you just lie down, all right? I'll take care of you.”

Aziraphale nodded, and at Crowley's bidding, he stretched on the bed, taking deep breaths as Crowley stripped and came to join him.

“I'm sorry,” he tried again, but Crowley curled up close to him, planting gentle kisses along his jaw.

“Shush. No more of that. I'll take good care of you, angel. I won't hurt you, never that. It'll be good. You'll see. You'll love it.”

“Like before?”

A beat.

“Yeah. Just like before. Now hush.”

Obediently Aziraphale fell silent, and he let Crowley start to kiss him. He rather liked the kisses, even if they still startled him a little. They were sweet and soft, making his eyes flutter shut and his body relax. Then Crowley's hand trailed down his chest, drawing half-formed patterns with his fingertips. When he reached down to circle Aziraphale's cock in his hand, Aziraphale made a soft protesting sound only to have Crowley kiss him firmly on the mouth.

“You love this,” Crowley whispered against his lips. “Used to beg me for this. You let me jerk you off and lick your cum off your belly.”

 _Messy,_ Aziraphale thought with distaste, and then he pushed that thought away..

He lay still, breathing shallow as Crowley aroused him. There was something almost frighteningly alien about his own body then, the way it shuddered and twitched under Crowley's touch. It was just on the edge of too much, so he closed his eyes focused on the pleasure, ignoring the rest.

“Oh, my angel, my beautiful angel. You have no fucking idea how long I've waited...”

Aziraphale started to tell him he did, that it had been four months since he had woken up with Crowley missing from his mind, but Crowley was rolling him over on his belly, swarming up to stretch his lean weight over Aziraphale's broader body.

At the first bite, Aziraphale yelped. It was too sharp, too hard, but he couldn't argue with the way his cock, pressed between his belly and the blanket, throbbed. The second bite was harder, the third was harder yet, and Crowley hissed with pleasure against his back.

“That's the way you should always look, marked for everyone to see...”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, because if he had been marked before whatever it was that Hastur had done, at least he would know. At least he would have proof, something to hang on to...

The bites were too hard, a primal thing, and when Crowley broke skin on the soft and undefended flesh of Aziraphale's hip, Aziraphale buried his face in the pillows, wrapping one in his arms for something to hang on to.

“Please,” he whined, and Crowley laughed. Oh, but he did _like_ that laugh. Crowley sounded happy, sounded free, and Aziraphale's heart ached.

“You ready, angel? Greedy thing. You always have been.”

Had he?

Aziraphale whimpered, cringing as Crowley's slicked fingers probed between his cheeks and then found his opening. Crowley fumbled a little in his hurry, smearing lubricant everywhere, and then he was thrusting his fingers hard into Aziraphale's resisting flesh, two and then three, and either way, it was too much. Aziraphale shook with it, fear and anticipation mixed together and his slow tears soaking the cotton under his cheek.

He made a relieved sound when Crowley's fingers pulled away, but then the demon was spreading his knees apart and kneeling behind him, hand tight around his own cock and pressing it to the flesh he had just loosened. Azirpahale cringed from the hard press of Crowley's knuckles against his flesh, but the demon made a comforting sound.

“It's all right, love, it'll be fine. You love this. You beg me for it, sluttish little darling...”

Aziraphale did want to beg, but he gritted his teeth against it, biting back a sharp cry when Crowley entered him. It was smooth and slick, but too fast. When Crowley was finally seated fully inside him, Aziraphale was overwhelmed with the feeling of sheathing the demon entirely, of being so full, just on the edge of breaking, and then Crowley started to move.

Aziraphale wailed, clutching the pillow as hard as he could, muffling his own cries. Too much, too hard, and oh _Somebody_ , but he felt surrounded and restrained by the love he felt from Crowley and for him, gold and heavy like lead. He couldn't move, and Crowley kept pushing into him, every stroke raw and tight and _too much._

He couldn't stop the dreadful sounds he was making, and he would have been afraid of hurting Crowley with them if Crowley hadn't been louder.

“Sorry, so sorry, It'll be better next time, I swear,” Crowley panted. “I'll be nice, I promise, just let me have you now. I've waited so long, can't fucking _take_ it angel. Next time... next time will be better, just let me have this, I swear..”

And on and on and _on_ , and eventually Aziraphale gave up, or his corporation did, and he felt himself open in a way he hadn't before. His body was exhausted, his mind was a blank, and Crowley's words faded into a series of near-bestial growls and hisses. His cock had long gone soft, and he only endured this thing that he had wanted, had once loved and desired and begged for because it was love, and it was Crowley.

His throat was raw and his face was flooded with tears when Crowley finished, one final stroke that filled him with something that stung and burned. Even then it seemed to take Crowley forever to finally pull away from him, and when Aziraphale curled into a miserable ball, Crowley plastered himself to Aziraphale's back, his arms tight around Aziraphale's body.

“Oh angel, angel, I'm sorry, I was too... only you made me wait so long, I couldn't wait any more. It'll be better next time, all right? I'll be so careful, I'll take such good care of you next time.”

_Next time._

The words made Aziraphale start crying again, hopeless burned-out tears that Crowley wiped away for him, all the time trying to give him the memories that he had lost, that had been taken.

 _We can make new memories together,_ Crowley told him, and Aziraphale felt a deep dark pit open inside him, dragging him down, refusing to let him go.


End file.
